


Metamorphosis

by SilverDoe290s



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A lot of conversation and some feelings, Albus & Elphias friendship, Discussions of wand lore (in keeping with the prompt), Flashbacks, M/M, some magical violence, the Elder Wand - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21934012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverDoe290s/pseuds/SilverDoe290s
Summary: Switching wands is not the simple task it first appears to be. The Elder Wand is strange and unfamiliar, and harder for Albus to accept than he'd expected.Written for Grindeldore Holiday Exchange 2019, Prompt: wand lore.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 21
Kudos: 45
Collections: Grindeldore Holiday Exchange 2019





	Metamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kierkegarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kierkegarden/gifts).



> I'm back! Mostly because signing up for this exchange forced me to be. Writing has not come easily to me at all lately, but please accept my humble offering nonetheless.

“How’s your cousin? She should be almost old enough for school by now, if I recall correctly.” 

Albus’ voice was swallowed by the sound of clinking glasses and carols. The bar was crowded for his taste, but he would choose it over Hog’s Head with ease. It was a simple matter to lose himself in the crowd, here, if only until he was recognised. Sometimes they were people he knew. Then, he would nod back with an automatic smile. Mostly, it was by strangers. A year since that fateful duel, and his fame had not died down. If anything, it gathered momentum, as his name was rarely absent from discussion of the upcoming election. Their gazes lay on him like a tight, ill-fitting cloak; difficult to breathe in.

His outfit only enhanced his visibility, he knew; a bright red candy-cane-patterned scarf clashed loudly with his deep plum cloak. With a little imagination, he could pretend it was the _only_ thing drawing people’s eyes to him. The scarf was a second-hand gift from Minerva. She’d handed it over with a declaration that she was unlikely to ever wear it, and really, it was much more his style, wasn’t it? It was, as he had gladly assured her.

“My cousin?” Elphias looked briefly bewildered. “Oh – she’s great. Decided she wants a pet dragon next year and will hardly be talked out of it – you know how kids are. You’d know better than me really, wouldn’t you?”

Albus chuckled. “I’m sure she’ll be a joy to teach. I’ll certainly take measures to fireproof my classroom.”

As he spoke, Albus’ gaze wandered to the decorations adorning the ceiling – revolving boughs of mistletoe interspersed with floating candles. Together with a collection of baubles that twinkled in the low light, the effect was kaleidoscopic. Albus’ head spun slightly attempting to follow the movement.

The room smelt of gingerbread and cinnamon. With the smoke drifting from the candles, it created a hazy effect.

“Be sure to do that, indeed.” Elphias sipped his drink. “Say, Albus – how are _you_?”

“Oh, you know. Busy.” Albus took a sudden fascination with the garlands of tinsel draped across the wall. “Quite, quite busy.”

“Yeah, you must be.” Elphias leaned in further, confidentially. “Well, what next?”

“I do have stacks of papers to grade, and I hear an excellent sweet shop has opened nearby…”

“Oh, you know that isn’t what I meant!” The barely-hidden excitement in his friend’s eyes made Albus’ heart sink, just a little. “What about, you know…” Elphias waved a hand.

Albus blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

Elphias harrumphed. “Come on, you know you don’t have to be modest with me, right Al? You _are_ running for Minister, aren’t you? It’ll be a landslide.”

There it was, then. He’d hoped, with Elphias at least, he might escape the topic. “It’s been suggested,” he offered. “But, as it happens, I have no interest in the position.”

The noise Elphias made was entirely indignant. “You’re the best man for the job!” He was leaning in again, a little too closely. His eyes gleamed, pock-marked face animated as Albus had rarely seen it, and Albus was forced to break eye contact. Elphias waved a hand. “With things so unstable, if you took charge, you could revolutionize the country.”

 _That’s what I’m afraid of_ , Albus didn’t say.

“I find I’m much happier at Hogwarts.” Was his hand shaking around his glass? Perhaps a little. Not noticeable. He drained the last of it; it left a sticky sweet taste on his tongue. The words tasted selfish even as he said them, and while not _false_ , he didn’t know that he could call what he felt at Hogwarts _happiness_. Comfort, maybe. Familiarity, even security. He fumbled for words to rectify his statement.

“I’m a teacher, Elphias, not a leader.” Once again, the words didn’t ring quite true, though he was sure he’d firmly believed them. “There will always be people eager to seize power, fewer with the patience to help the next generation wield that power wisely. I would like to think that staying here would make a greater difference, in the end.”

Elphias relented, but not before giving Albus a weighted look. Words weren’t needed for Albus to hear the condemnation echo: _hiding, still._

Certain as he was that this was the right choice, there was no refuting it.

Albus’ hand clenched reflexively around the wand in his pocket. An unfamiliar weight, heavier than it should be.

What had he to hide from, anymore? Facing Gellert _should_ have freed him of that fear; instead, it wrapped around his mind like a blanket, soothing yet smothering. Was wisdom that made him turn down power, or sheer cowardice?

The silence was turning heavy. Albus flicked his wand to refill his glass – and the bottle shattered loudly, sending liquid spraying across the table.

Elphias jumped back, while Albus just sat there for a moment, blinking and watching the golden liquid seep into wood. The glances he garnered were anything but discrete by now, and it was that more than anything that brought him back to himself. “My mistake,” he said quickly. “So sorry, I’ll take care of it.” With more careful concentration than it should by right require – especially for _him_ – he vanished the liquor and brought the glass back together. Shards clicked into place, hesitantly and a little clumsily. Albus frowned.

“That isn’t your wand,” Elphias remarked. “Is it?”

“No,” Albus agreed. Elaboration seemed unnecessary.

It wasn’t the first time the Elder Wand gave him trouble. The wand wasn’t refusing his mastery, precisely. He’d _felt_ the shock of electricity as Gellert pressed it into his hand and known, amidst the daze of everything else, that it was his.

With every passing week, that certainty waned.

“You… took _his,_ then?”

“I’m sure you’ll understand,” Albus said, fixing Elphias with a level gaze, “if I ask you to keep that strictly between us.”

Elphias nodded. “Of course, of course! Though, I mean, I don’t quite get it. Why take a trophy just to keep it secret? It’s a bit antiquated anyway, the practice I mean. I don’t think I could ever use another wizard’s wand. It just seems too, well, intimate. Especially not – well, I mean, I guess it isn’t his anymore, but doesn’t it still feel strange? I know that it would bother _me_.”

Elphias rambled on, so Albus let his thoughts drift. A distant part of him voiced concern that Elphias would underestimate the importance of this secret, and he couldn’t very well _explain_. Most of his mind, though, replayed the shattering of glass with growing frustration. Even a wand he _hadn’t_ mastered should obey him more readily. It was almost seemed to actively rebel against him.

He’d won the battle, but in the end, Gellert renounced the wand willingly; just another thing Albus didn’t know what to make of. Winning a wand was one thing, being given it another. Where, then, did this fall? As Gellert surrendered it before the Aurors came, Albus might imagine he’d been entrusted it for safekeeping. Not that it wasn’t his intent to do so anyway, but the thought of it being _Gellert’s_ intention remained disquieting.

Albus let his mind empty for a while. The noise rushed in to fill it. Laughter, clinking glasses, a couple stray notes and chimes from the choir that had started packing up. Their rhythm was off; chords rushed together and then faltered for a bit, creating a sound that was sweet but disjointed.

Elphias was awaiting an answer. Albus tried for a smile; he suspected it looked a little wrong. “I suppose it does, a bit. I’ll get used to it. It’s not unlike wearing down a new pair of shoes.”

It was entirely unlike it, but the superficial similarities were there. “Stiff and rather painful at first, never becomes comfortable quite as quickly as you’d hope,” he elaborated. His sheepish delivery won a chuckle from Elphias. Albus toyed with the recently repaired glass. A couple of shards hadn’t quite fused as they should; the cracks were hard to see, but entirely obvious beneath his fingers.

“I’m afraid it’s getting late. I’m sorry to leave you so abruptly, but Fawkes will give me an earful if I’m not back soon.”

“Oh.” Albus registered disappointment from Elphias. He hadn’t been the best of company, he’d admit. It was months since their last evening together, and Albus had spent most of this one distant and distracted. There was a faint pang of guilt with that thought. “I’ll see you soon, then?” Elphias offered.

Albus smiled warmly. “Of course. I’ll have to do something other than mark exams for the next few weeks. Otherwise, I might go properly insane.”

Outside, Albus braced himself against the wind. The world suddenly seemed muted; the stream of music following him out into the street was faint in the wake of the cacophony inside. He stumbled slightly and caught himself. A thin layer of snow crunched beneath his feet and the street stretched out ahead.

The possibility of apparition offered itself, but he preferred to walk. He was off-kilter still and with the Elder Wand acting up, apparition seemed unwise. Streetlights flickered overhead, their light straining to reach the pavement. Snow came down in flurries now. Albus tried a _lumos_ , but the spell spluttered and died away. White flakes coated his scarf and coat, mixing into his hair and obscuring his glasses as he pocketed the wand again in resignation. It would be a long walk home.

A breeze rustled the grass. Dust and pollen flew up, and then resettled. The air was thick from it, feeling almost solid when breathed in.

Albus flipped a page. _Wands of Myth and Legend,_ the title read. The stories detailed were fantastical indeed – if rather sparse in _fact_ s. Any number of them _could_ refer to the wand they sought, but could just as well have drawn inspiration from the tale and run with it.

Albus put the book aside. The hours he could freely spend were scarce these days; he preferred not to waste them. He looked down at the head resting in his lap. They’d planned to research together, but their many late nights had caught up with Gellert, who was now half-asleep. For once, Albus remained the restless one. As he listened to the soft, rhythmic sound of Gellert’s breathing, a question took shape in his mind.

“Gellert?” He accompanied the name with a nudge.

“Mm?” Gellert’s eyes cracked open by a fraction. His face was still as it so rarely was, wearing a relaxed half-smile. A small, fond laugh rose in Albus’ chest to see it. He’d grown so accustomed to Gellert’s focused intensity, it was startling to see him so at peace.

It looked nothing like the blankness that overtook him with his visions; that was taut, somehow, a thin skein of serenity drawn by greater forces, while this was… something softer. Albus almost halted his inquiry for fear of breaking it. Curiosity quickly won out.

“How is it Durmstrang didn’t break your wand?”

Gellert rolled off Albus’ lap and propped himself up on his elbow. “And why do you say they didn’t?”

“Well, I mean…” Albus waved a hand towards the wand sticking out of Gellert’s pocket. Gellert laughed, then pulled it out and twirled it. For half a moment it seemed he might drop it, but he recovered smoothly.

“This isn’t my first wand.” He held it out in invitation. Albus took it, turning it over in his hands. “I made it, after losing the original.”

Albus raised a brow. Every time he thought Gellert couldn’t surprise him anymore, he found a way. “Wand craftsmanship? That’s quite advanced to teach at school.” It would take years to learn well enough to make anything of it. Most wandmakers trained for their entire lives.

“Our curriculum was advanced.” Gellert’s eyes glinted. “Though of course, there is no knowledge like that which is self-taught.”

“Quite true. Yew?” Albus asked, trailing a hand down it. The wood was rough and twisted, unpruned.

“The Celts believed simply sitting beneath a yew tree could grant one visions.”

“It’s barely carved.”

“Its natural shape is best suited to its magic. I would not take a knife to it and chip away at that, no more than needed.”

“Hm.” Albus made the noise absently, entranced by the wand. Its design was deceptively simple; it could have been plucked directly from a tree, but for the cuts made to insert its core. The wood was dark; it looked almost charred. “Not to claim expertise, but surely that would cost control?” Gellert’s magic could seem wild at times, but never _uncontrolled._ His mastery was undeniable and – in Albus’ admittedly biased view – breath-taking.

“Control doesn’t come from the _wand._ The wizard commands; the wand only leads the flow. I do not need to slow it to a trickle for control. It’s less a dam, more a lightning rod.”

“And the core?”

“Thestral hair. The original had dragon heartstring, but that was difficult to get my hands on.”

There was something shockingly casual in Gellert’s answers. Albus could not imagine simply trading one wand for another like that; his wand was _his._ It knew him as no other could.

“Don’t you ever miss your old one?” he asked softly.

Gellert’s brow creased, and Albus wished he could take the question back. Gellert always played off his expulsion like it was nothing – even a welcome release – but Albus found that hard to fully buy. No one brushed off being cast out of a place they’d once considered home so easily, even when they were fault. Maybe especially then. The dark look Gellert’s face certainly suggested otherwise.

“It hurt to lose,” he confessed, then shrugged, shaking the thought away. “But in the end, it’s only a conduit. How foolish would it be, to put something as valuable as one’s magic in an object that cannot be replaced? This new one serves me just as well. Better, maybe, since I made it specifically to suit me.”

Albus hummed as he took in the answer, running his fingers through Gellert’s hair. It felt fine and silky. Gellert’s frown eased a little, and something unclenched in Albus’ chest in response. He looked down at Gellert. There was – something in his utter refusal to be bound that called to Albus. He wondered what it would be like, to be so completely self-possessed. To let loose as inessential anything he could not contain inside himself. It seemed like a lonely existence, but a freer one, too. Maybe if he learned to do the same, he would feel a little less shackled. Less like being pulled apart at the seams.

“Try using it,” Gellert suggested.

Albus gave a start. In his musings, he’d almost forgotten that Gellert’s wand still lay in his hands. All at once, he became aware of it again. Despite Gellert’s disavowal of tying himself to any object, it felt like holding a piece of him. Albus turned it over in his hands, with much greater care this time. “You’re certain you want to let me?”, he couldn’t help but ask.

Gellert shrugged, but his eyes were hungry. “I want to see how you would use it. Besides… if we’re to share ownership of the Elder Wand later, we should be familiar with sharing wands.”

Gellert’s gaze was so expectant, Albus was afraid to fail and let him down. Still, he closed his eyes and focused.

The magic was _there_ – a deep well of it – but just beyond his reach. There was almost _too_ much, like trying to draw a bucket from a well and being weighed down by the water it held. He’d never met this kind of resistance with his own wand. He reached further, but it remained stubborn.

Albus’ focus abruptly fractured with the sound of Gellert’s laughter. When he scowled at him, Gellert brought a hand to his mouth to stifle it, but Albus could see his smirk beneath it.

“The shade of your face right now doesn’t suit your hair at _all_.”

Albus flushed, which he was sure did not help matters. His failure bothered him, but he pushed that aside to give Gellert an indignant swat. “ _You_ wanted me to try.”

“And I still do.” His amusement faded a little. “Try it again.”

Albus closed his eyes, prepared to meet the same resistance, when he felt Gellert’s hand curl around his wrist. A shiver of magic ran up to meet it, pooling like warmth where their skin met and drawing Albus’ nerves taut. “You’re thinking too much, Albus.”

Albus felt electrified. Gellert’s breathes huffed softly against his shoulder and magic thrummed beneath his fingers. He wanted to reach for it – wanted to be absorbed by it. To release the thoughts that drummed incessantly at the back of his mind, reminding him that this was all temporary, he had responsibilities, he would lose this.

Albus could feel Gellert’s warmth through their shirts where he leaned against him. He wanted – to keep him this close, always, so close there was no need for words. To follow the threads that led him deep into his mind sometimes and see a way back out. To live with the spark, defiance, fearlessness Gellert seemed to embody.

Albus _wanted_ – so, for the first time in his life, he reached out and _took._

A wave of warmth rushed through him. Albus felt more than heard Gellert’s gasp. He held his eyes closed for just a moment longer, savouring the lingering trace of magic, before looking up. A silver phoenix burst from the end of the wand he held, soaring up into a clear blue sky. For an instant he felt as weightless as that bird. Even with his own wand, he had never cast a non-verbal patronus before. He hadn’t even meant the spell.

A rush of breathless laughter escaped him. He looked over to see Gellert laughing too, eyes wide with wonder. Albus went to kiss him – but missed, and their foreheads knocked awkwardly against each other, setting off another fit of laughter.

**_On wand mastery and transference._ **

The book sat on Albus’ desk, spine straining from being cracked open, yet still barely perused. He was not reading for deep academic insights – a good thing, as its contents barely extended beyond what he’d known when he was eighteen. He was reading for a carpet of white noise from which to springboard his thoughts.

He tapped the end of the Elder Wand against the desk’s edge and hummed a quiet tune to himself.

_Everyone has heard the phrase “the wand chooses the wizard”. This is true, and yet, not quite. Indeed, a wand seems to have a will of its own; it may accept or reject your magic. But the process is more akin to an ongoing contract than to a simple choice. At every moment, the wizard offers his magic and the wand accepts it. However, at every moment, either could break this bond if another wins their loyalty. This is no easy process; it requires immense charge and intention. The classic example is a wizard’s duel, but to say that it suffices to defeat your opponent to win their wand is a vast simplification._

The words brought unwanted images to Albus’ mind. In the dark, dim candlelight of his office, it was harder than it should be to shut them out. They still felt far too fresh. Gellert, kneeling before him. Clothes torn, eyes wide and open and whispering endless secrets Albus had only to ask to hear, as he placed the wand in his hand. It would be easier if he’d fought to his last breath, hissing and spitting curses. It would be _easier_ if Albus had seen only hate in his eyes.

Albus pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes to banish the memories. They were of no help to him – would only bring more questions he had no desire to unravel.

_After all, if it were so simple, every friendly duel would end in an exchange of wands. It is difficult to create a precise set of rules; wand transference is oft assumed simple to understand, thanks to how commonplace the concept is, but in truth the details of the process baffle scholars still. What is commonly agreed upon is that it is a matter less of defeating the former owner, and more convincing the wand that you are better suited to it – usually accomplished, indeed, through a show of power…_

The chapter trailed on in a similar fashion. Something soft and feathery nudged Albus’ hand, and he looked up to see Fawkes coo at him. The words on the page began to run together; he had to blink a few times to bring back clarity. When had his office grown so dark? The candles on his desk were running low. It was quiet; most people, students and teachers both, had returned home for the holidays.

Another nudge and Albus leaned back in his chair, one hand absently ruffling her feathers. Despite Fawkes’ presence, the room felt terribly empty, and he was seized by a sudden urge to escape it.

His coat hung by the door. Throwing it on, he murmured a few reassuring words to Fawkes before heading outside.

The walk to Hogsmead was well-worn to him by now. The sharp, biting air was a relief after the stifling closure of his office. Often, he walked this way to feel alone with his thoughts. Tonight, though, he preferred to let his mind go blank.

There was no wind this night, nor was it snowing; the sky was perfectly clear, stars sparkling far above, yet it felt all the colder for that stillness. Albus drew his coat closer as the castle vanished behind him.

The crack of branches underfoot startled him. Paranoid. He couldn’t make sense of the uneasiness that dogged his steps. Things had just begun to settle; this was a respite. He knew well how rare those were in life. He should savour it in its fullness, but instead, he found himself listless and sleepless.

Even the matter of the Elder Wand was of no great urgency; if it refused to serve him, he could always return to his former one, and keep it safe and hidden.

The thought of doing so bothered him – even more than his attempts to wield the Elder Wand. He’d barely glanced at his old wand since the duel. Using it seemed wrong. A lie, if only a small white one.

Or perhaps, rather, like dressing in the clothes of someone dead and long forgotten. It was not truly _his_ anymore, no more than the Elder Wand was.

It belonged to some other man, that young, bright-eyed professor who garnered praise yet lived in fear – of facing Gellert, or himself. The man Albus was now had done all that and come out the other side. Where was the clarity it should have won him? Every time he reached for it, he found only a hollow echo.

Perhaps, he mused, perhaps the Elder Wand was not rejecting him. Perhaps _he_ rejected _it._

The revelation hung in the cold, crisp winter air around him. It rang true, but Albus did not know what to do with it. He didn’t know how he could change it – was not even certain that he _could_.

Slowly, in fits and bursts, their laughter died down. They were still lying on the grass, clutching each other. Albus’ arm wrapped around Gellert’s shoulder; Gellert’s rested on Albus’ waist. Albus hated having to disentangle himself to sit up, but he did so regardless. Gellert’s eyes stayed on him, and he could have sustained himself on the quiet awe they held forever.

Once he’d settled into a more comfortable position, Albus reached into his own pocket and held his wand out for Gellert to examine. “You try, then,” he said.

Gellert looked it over, and Albus held his breath. It was just a wand, but the close attention Gellert paid made it seem like something far more significant, and he found himself awaiting Gellert’s reaction like a judgement.

“Intricate,” Gellert murmured at last, tracing the runes that adorned the handle. He gave the wand a small, experimental swing. Nothing happened. With a low hum, he closed his eyes. A faint glow gathered about the wand’s tip, then faded back to nothingness. “It’s a key,” he said suddenly, opening his eyes.

Albus frowned. Whatever statement he’d anticipated, it wasn’t this one. “What do you mean?”

“Wands are all… tools, that let you deliberately access your magic. Most, as I said, work like dams. Yours is like a key… but I cannot find its lock.”

Albus tilted his head. “That’s certainly a novel way of looking at it.” It felt… _right,_ a proper description of how he wielded his magic, but he’d never phrased it that way. “What would you think of the Elder Wand, then? Should that be a dam, too?”

Gellert’s eyes glittered. “No, it would be a _weapon_. But I do not think that’s what makes it so… unique. It was a gift from Death, was it not?”

“If you believe that part,” Albus said, a small smile appearing on his lips.

“You don’t? You choose the strangest moments to play the sceptic.”

Albus shrugged. “I don’t know that it’s _strange_. People will mythologize whatever lies beyond their understanding. A very powerful witch or wizard enchants three objects with a magic that’s since been forgotten, and in time, the legend grows.”

Gellert shook his head. “If a human could have made them, there would be other objects like them – unless the human was so apart from others as to deserve the _title_ of “Death”, after some fashion. But that changes little in my speculation. What _matters_ is that if wands are merely conduits, the Elder Wand would tap into something no other could. The realm of death, I suppose…”

“Or rather, some kind of life force?” Albus offered. “After all, it is usually passed on through death – you could say, when it has bled its former master dry.”

Gellert’s smile sharpened. “Hm. A fascinating proposition. A dangerous one, too, but then, we’ve always known the wand was dangerous.”

As the line of conversation wound to a close, Gellert’s attention returned to the wand in his hands.

“You know, I almost envy you.”

The words were spoken wistfully, and Albus felt something twist in his stomach. He’d grown accustomed to being envied, at home and at school – did not enjoy it, but took it in good humour – but this was _Gellert,_ who equalled him in every way, who should never have reason to envy him.

“For my wand?”

Gellert twirled it again in lieu of an answer. Then, deciding to respond verbally, he looked up. “Yes. I’ve seen wands more powerful, but none as _skilled_ as this one. I suspect there are few secrets of magic you would fail to unlock, if you truly wanted to.”

“Oh, so it’s my _wand_ that grants me talent.” Albus’ tone was teasing, but Gellert looked back at him in complete seriousness.

“No. It’s the sharpness of your mind that lets you understand and use it.”

Albus’ stomach did a strange little flip, as it always did when Gellert praised him. He was hardly sparing with his compliments, yet the effect was far from diminished through overuse, nor had Albus ever been able to doubt their sincerity.

“Try it again?” Albus suggested. Gellert held the wand gingerly, lightly balanced. “If you’re certain you are _sharp_ enough, that is,” he added with a twinkle in his eye, because he had never seen Gellert turn down a challenge.

Gellert, though, merely frowned. “I can see how… I see how it _should_ work, and yet, it will not. If I push the matter, I fear that I might break something.” He paused for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was halting, and far less certain than before. “Would you… show me?”

“I suppose you mean legilimency?”

A crooked smile. “Yes. I promise not to probe deeper than needed.”

It was Albus’ turn to falter. Of all the magical disciplines they had practiced with each other, this one, they always skirted around. It was not from lack of trust – there was little he wouldn’t share with Gellert. Gellert, in turn, had entrusted _him_ with things Albus was certain no-one else knew, but each of those was a gift to be cherished, and Albus wouldn’t think of asking for free access.

As for his part…

There was _so much_ he wished to show Gellert, it brimmed and threatened to overflow. When each word was carefully chosen, though, only then could he do his thoughts justice. The thought of leaving his mind raw and open made him flinch reflexively.

Meeting Gellert’s expectant gaze, he tamped down on that fear. This was _Gellert._ He expected great things of Albus, certainly, but he had never demanded perfection. If Albus could not drop his guard with him, then with who _could_ he?

Albus drew in a breath. “All right.” The words weren’t intended as the whisper they came out as.

Gellert just nodded, reaching back for his own wand, and suddenly he was in Albus’ head.

His presence was nothing like Albus had anticipated. He’d braced for something blazing and all-consuming, but what came instead felt cool and careful. The touch felt something like falling into spring water and a shiver coursed through him.

Beside him, Gellert gasped.

“It’s so… _light._ ” The words were hissed so softly, Albus didn’t know if they’d been meant for him to hear. At the same time, his presence retreated, like a tide changing its course. Albus found himself wishing to cling to it.

Silvery light poured from the tip of Albus’ wand where it lay in Gellert’s grasp, but not the light of a patronus. An image formed in the air before them – a castle nestled between mountains, though it looked rather like a fortress. From Gellert’s descriptions, Albus recognised it as Durmstrang. The detail was stunning – he could make out every gothic arch, every twist of stone.

The image flickered, once, then folded in on itself, reforming itself to the familiar shape of Bathilda’s house. Another flicker, and then – the two of them, lying side by side as they were now.

Albus looked at Gellert’s face, far off and distant as when he was Seeing. No words came to him, so he took Gellert’s hand and pressed it tightly to his chest.

The evening walks became routine. It was a relief, mostly, to escape his office, though the line between relief and effort was growing ever thinner – so thin, he could no longer tell if he was glad to be alone, or despised it.

A bush rustled behind him. Albus flinched. When nothing else happened, he chuckled softly to himself; he was growing as jumpy as any of his fresh-faced students discovering ghosts for the first time.

Still, a hand stayed on the Elder Wand, mostly for the comfort of having something there. It wouldn’t be much use to him, if push came to shove. He was better served by wandless magic, these days. Though even that, he was hesitant to trust. Wandless magic could be wild and unpredictable, flaring with emotion, and for all its power his was worst than most. It almost reminded him of –

Another memory to push away before it could emerge.

Albus blamed the cold and dark for the melancholic turn of his thoughts and his tendency to jump at shadows - or perhaps simply the time of year. Hogwarts always felt different during the holidays, when he was left to ghost through the corridors with the few students who still lingered.

He’d made it several more paces when the bushes shifted again. This time, Albus had half-turned to inspect the noise and set his mind at rest.

A stunning spell slammed into him, knocking him flat on his back. His magic lashed out automatically. Albus’ assailant was thrown back in turn, but he hadn’t been alone. Albus was still trying to catch his breath when a kick caught him in the ribs. Another sent the Elder Wand spinning out of his hand to lie several paces away in the snow.

With a dazed and slightly blurred gaze, Albus peered up at his attacker. His glasses had been thrown askance when he had fallen but he could clearly make out a silver chain dangling from the pocket of the man closest to him – the one who’d delivered the last kick. Squinting slightly revealed it to be a small triangle with a circle inscribed in it, and a line running through the centre. Not especially surprising, but he still swallowed drily at the revelation – which proved to be a mistake, as the man chose that exact moment to kick him again, causing him to choke and splutter.

Wordless, helpless rage coursed through him. His magic bubbled just below the surface of his skin and the Elder Wand twitched slightly where it lay, melting a small pool of water into the snow.

 _Fight back,_ a voice screamed from the back of his mind. But there was no controlled outlet for his magic, and the cold ground beneath him sapped away at his strength and resolve until it faded back to a dull simmer.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” the man with the Deathly Hallows pedant – their leader, Albus supposed – spat at him. He was the most brutish-looking of the men, with a square jaw and a mop of floppy brown hair that obscured his eyes.

In that instant, Albus _hated_ him, with all the hatred he’d never quite managed to muster for Gellert himself.

Albus regarded him with a calm, icy gaze, even through the pain – caused less by the attackers themselves, and more by the magic clawing to get free. “I know exactly what I’ve done,” he stated. He wasn’t proud of it – could never be _proud,_ not knowing all he knew about himself – but this moment was perhaps the closest he would come to it.

“You betrayed your own people, and for what? To protect those weak, ignorant muggles? Is that worth our chains? I hear you preach freedom to the Ministry, but you are no more than their lapdog.” The man’s lip curled as he spoke, and one of his lackeys stepped up to cast _crucio._

Albus’ muscles screamed, but he forced his gaze to stay on the man who spoke to him, showing every inch of the disgust curling in his stomach. Had Gellert really sounded like that, once? The words were so obviously ugly from his lips. How could they have enchanted him coming from Gellert’s? The sick feeling in his stomach had nothing to do with the torture, he knew.

Magic lapped at the edges of his mind. There was _too much_. If he released it now, it would kill every person standing near him.

 _They deserve it,_ a voice in his mind whispered.

_Gellert deserved it, too. But you left him alive. Hypocrite._

The pain subsided, leaving Albus feeling numb as he leant back into the thin layer of snow. He could feel the concrete through it; it had almost entirely melted under him, and the cold seemed to leach into his bones.

“We _will_ kill you,” the ringleader declared, “but not before you suffer for this.”

Albus tried to cling to the rage he’d felt before, but it waned as soon as it had risen. In the end, they were just men – foolish, easily led, easily swayed by prejudice. The disgust remained, but it curdled somewhere deeper and he couldn’t bring himself to push it outwards. Instead, he let it mingle with the exhaustion that slowly crept over him.

He could fight, he knew. He _should_ fight. He had fought harder battles before, but this one seemed so… worthless.

When the pain returned, it overcame him. It was easy to surrender to the wave; easier than pushing through to some unknown destination. If there was a light at the end of this tunnel, it should have come by now.

The pain sharpened into a single voice.

_Albus._

Squinting, he could see a figure haloed against the trees, and a wordless laugh escaped him.

 _Of course. Who else?_ Waves of golden hair coming down to his shoulders, he looked younger than when Albus had last seen him. He was not coated in ash, broken or defeated.

 _You’re not going to die like this, are you?_ There was a lilt to the words, almost playful – a challenge. _You’re better than that, you know it, don’t you?_ A twist to his mouth, half amused, but his eyes watched carefully, as if weighing whether to intervene, as Albus curled in on himself and shook.

Of course, he would not intervene. He wasn’t really there, merely a figment of Albus’ imagination.

 _You’re better than that._ The words bounced around Albus’ mind, and he could not say whether they came from outside or inside. He’d thought so, once – thought he had been better than _everyone,_ and oh, how wrong he’d been.

Now he knew he was not. He still did not know just what he _was_.

His attackers were speaking too, laughing and jeering, but Gellert’s voice drowned theirs out entirely.

 _Is this the man who defeated me?_ His voice softened and dropped an octave. _Is this the man I allowed to_ love _me?_

Albus shuddered and gasped on the floor. The Elder Wand twitched where it lay, as if in sympathy. No-one had thought to pick it up, too focused on the agony they could inflict on him.

 _I’m sorry, my love. I never meant to drain the life from you._ The look on Gellert’s face could be called truly regretful. _Do you remember how it was to feel alive?_

A shiver ran down Albus’ spine and before he knew it, his fingers closed around the Elder Wand. It hummed beneath them, a frantic pulse.

Gellert’s image flickered in and out of view, but his voice rang out clearly. It wasn’t him, he wasn’t there, Albus _knew,_ but he latched on to it anyway.

_Do you remember how it felt to love? Tell me, dearest, how long has it been?_

Albus knew what it was to love. He _did_ love. He loved – Hogwarts, his students, Fawkes, the smell of parchment, the way the sun climbed over the edges of the castle in the morning, even Aberforth, estranged as they were.

But it was all distant and muted, not the same. Not _enough._

Gellert’s image was fading, and Albus focused, wanting to cling to it. Not wanting to try to withstand this alone. It blurred and softened around the edges. _The wand,_ he hissed.

He wanted to reach out to where Gellert stood. He wanted – did not want to go back, not to the person he had been then, someone he despised now. But he wanted that certainty he’d had once. Was there any way to have that back, without forfeiting all he’d learned since?

Was there a right way for him to love wholeheartedly?

They were old doubts, ones he’d lingered on, turned over, and put away again so many times before. But there was no room for doubt here – he lost himself to the wave of longing. He wanted to love. He wanted to _live_.

He was on his feet, suddenly, fire coursing through his veins as the pain subsided and the men stumbled back. Their faces twisted in shock.

Fire poured from the Elder Wand as well, drawing a clear line between him and them, and Albus’ pulse raced with the sheer _power_ of it.

There was something terribly satisfying in their fear of him. With all the power at his fingertips, he had still felt buried, somehow, this past year. Now, all that had pressed down on him vanished like smoke. The Elder Wand leapt to his command. The flames flared around him. How had he ever felt anything but free? The world was in his palm, if he would only _reach_ for it.

His attackers frantically backed away. Albus came back to himself. Shame should follow on the heels of his rage, but there was none. With a snap of his wand, the flames simmered down and died. Another snap left them men bound and kneeling. He would have to alert the Aurors of them.

Albus swayed slightly where he stood. He was suddenly aware of the night’s chill biting at his skin. The spot where he’d hallucinated Gellert was empty; only scorched ground and snow-topped trees spread out before him.

He felt drained enough to collapse into bed and not rise for an eternity; the hollow space permanently carved into his chest ached more than ever; but somehow, for all that, he felt more _awake_ than he could remember in a very long time.


End file.
